


In Good Faith

by Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-18
Updated: 2005-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_Lasalle/pseuds/Jo%20Lasalle
Summary: Futurefic branching off after Home Part 2, with handwavy cancer cure. (According to my 15-year-old notes.)(Part of a number of stories re-uploaded for archival purposes. It's been over 15 years, and so any tagging or summaries are going to be extremely bare-bones! I tried to time a bulk upload so nobody got 10 separate notifications, but if I did accidentally spam people, my apologies!)
Relationships: Lee "Apollo" Adama/Laura Roslin





	In Good Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Re-uploaded for archival purposes. It's been over 15 years, and so any tagging or summaries are going to be extremely bare-bones.

She is radiant on the podium. From the moment she steps up, takes her seat, takes the first question, the stage is hers. Everything, her creamy white suit, the red shimmer of her hair under the bright lights, her easy deflection of Zarek's ever more desperate sarcasm -- strong, healthy, undefeated, she shines up there.

Lee's had no doubt she would. From his seat in the front row he looks up at her, the last traces of uncertainty, of a superstitious hesitation that bid him be cautious vanishing. The audience responds to her. There are murmurs of approval the chair has to silence when she calls Zarek on a cheap accusation.

She's their president, and she'll still be their president a week from now, when the votes are counted and Lee will get to see her accept. One day of winning; they don't get too much of that but here there'll be one day. Lee doesn't care about the press conference and about the speech she has planned, but he cares about the look on her face, that one moment, the knowledge that she did well, that they did well together.

Zarek never has a chance. She's listening attentively to a ludicrous claim of his, about her office and personal favours and supplies, the low point of a long row of ill-advised contentions.

Zarek is faltering. Five minutes ago he slouched down in his chair as if he were watching a Pyramid game, catching himself just barely. He's losing, has been losing for weeks and he's tired of it.

"My staff has been working tirelessly to ensure the survival of this fleet," she says, as a fact, not a boast. "Not one of them has scrambled for power and position, and I stand by them as they've stood by me."

Lee knows it's for show; a good show, because Billy is well-liked and respected and Captain Apollo's loyalty has quickly become the subject of public myth, and she's warmer, more accessible when she speaks of the people closest to her. He knows, and still it lifts him, and right then she gives him a look that says she means it, that is for him: You put me here. Lee knew that too, but for a moment the room is empty of Zarek and the audience and the microphones, of everything except her up on the podium, brilliant and elated, six months of faith confirmed.

And Zarek moves on because he can't win there. He can't win with the next one either, his old grievances over new ways and new times. Not when they love her for how much she has kept safe for them, how much she salvaged from the ruins.

She doesn't say it: this is not the man you want to lead you to Earth; his people aren't the ones you want leading you. She doesn't have to. She hints, gracefully, at what she's done for them in the past, and she talks about the future, and every once in a while she mentions Earth. Zarek has no story about Earth he can tell except how he played a part in helping her, and it got him as far as this podium but it will get him no further.

"I know you like to think of the Cylon attack as a chance for starting over, Mr Zarek," she says, and Lee's not even that interested in her argument as much as he likes seeing her win, likes seeing what it has all been for. Just once at the end of so many struggles, she'll have it easy.

There's mild unrest at the other side of the podium, and Lee has a second to feel annoyed, to see her pause between two sentences.

Then there's a yell and the first shot and the cold rush of shock, the first high-pitched scream and Lee is on his feet but he can't see the president for the people around him, panicking. Too late, he didn't even see the gun this time and he's too late, pushing towards the podium where there's blood and confusion and overturned tables, and a knot of marines and dark-suited men getting her away.

Lee stops, more screaming and the clattering of chairs in his ears, someone moaning. There's blood. There's a struggle somewhere in the back and the podium is gleaming scarlet under the spotlights, and Lee is frozen, his instinct wasted, too late.

"Lords of Kobol! The Lords--" It's a loud shout, not a whimper, not a prayer, but Lee thinks, _please, please gods_ , and he stumbles forward at last, red blotches spreading through creamy white fabric in his mind and a chorus, _too late, too late._

*~*~*~

He hovers outside the door because the outer room is mad and he thinks she might need the quiet, but Sergeant Emris, the head of her security, waves him through. "They're all gone, she's just waiting," he says, clutching his rifle extra hard as if to show he's not neglecting his duties even though he's excited. They all are, even her guards. Lee is only an observer today, but there's a funny lightness in his stomach as he steps into the locker room where she's sitting facing away from the door. He sees her breathe deeply and push back her shoulders, her shoulder blades stretching the back of her dark red blouse, before the soft click of the door dampens the noise outside and she turns her head.

"Lee," she smiles, and sways towards him on the creaky old chair. "I thought you weren't on duty." She's sitting at a fold-up table in the locker room of what used to be a Pyramid court; there's papers strewn on scratched metal benches and a few Colonial flags draped over locker doors that look like towels hung up to dry, and for a foolish moment he wishes for the presidential offices on Caprica.

"I'm not," he says. "I'm just here to watch. I'm not disturbing you?"

"No." She shakes her head slowly, and there's still a tiny hitch to her breathing but it's eager more than nervous. "I'm just waiting now."

There's a bundle of notes on the table but she's reclining in the chair, legs crossed easily, watching him with bright eyes.

"I saw Billy in the foyer; I thought you might want to be alone," he says.

"You're not disturbing me."

Like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Lee says, "Yes, sir," and smiles.

She smiles, too. "Fifteen minutes," she says, nodding at the door and outside and the event. "Have a seat?"

"Sure." He pushes some papers aside on the low bench behind her desk and sits down, hunching forward; there's no other way to sit here comfortably, the coat hangers low enough to poke into the back of his head if he straightens up.

"Nervous?" he asks, because he's feeling giddy and it's bad luck to be too sure, but he has no doubts. He's as sure as he was on the first day.

Her head dips to the side; she's thinking the same. They're conspirators in their certainty. "Only a little," she says, and it sounds like an admission. "Not too much. I wonder if I should be."

"No." Lee's turn to shake his head, slowly and firmly. "You'll be great," he says, meaning, I believe in you. He's always said that. He's always known that he could.

*~*~*~

He has to yell at the marines to get through; don't they know who he is, don't they know he has to get to her, and even so he's grateful to them for sealing off the door, for keeping her safe.

The room is in chaos. Dark suits and uniforms, and another frightened marine points her rifle at Lee when he finally pushes inside, until she recognises him and they stare at each other, and she's so scared and shocked, frozen.

Then someone shouts for Doc Cottle and Lee's head whips around; he thinks yes, they need Cottle, right here, right this second, and the president is in the farthest corner of the room, bent over, small and barely visible behind the cluster of people in dark suits with their guns drawn.

Somebody calls his name; Emris grips him by the arm and Lee resists out of instinct, jerking himself free. "What happened?" Emris shouts and, "Did they get him?" And it means _what should we do_ and Lee doesn't know because he didn't think to check. He didn't think. He's still not thinking.

"Is she hurt?" That, first. Then, everything else.

"Captain." Her voice, trembling but loud, and he sees her now, bent low and clutching at one arm, her hair falling forward, vividly bright around her pale, pale face.

*~*~*~

Somebody felt inspired to put flowers on the makeshift desk. It's a sad-looking assortment, limp and ill-combined, but Lee wouldn't even know where to go for flowers, so he figures it's the thought that counts.

"I was quite surprised by those," she says, following his gaze. "And not even a card." She shakes her head in mock disappointment, and Lee has to laugh.

"You're a popular woman these days."

She sits up, abandoning irony, a joyful sparkle in her eyes. "Have you seen the figures?"

"I heard it on the wireless."

She waves that away. "We've got new ones. You should let Billy show them to you."

"Even better?"

Her answer is a tiny nod, for modesty's sake, and a satisfied little smile.

"I have a hunch I might be feeling sorry for Tom Zarek before the end of the day," Lee says, feeling bold, letting her see that he's... proud of her. Yes. Proud of who she is, proud that she proved him right.

And she knows. Why the moment is heavy and light at the same time, why he's here now, the only one, and he wonders idly what she's thinking of, which part of their journey.

Then she tilts her head and says, "Poor Mr Zarek has had some problems denouncing me as the evil despot after helping me out." It's not a funny word, despot, but it makes him grin anyway because she says it in so pleased a tone that it sounds rather evil indeed.

"I bet he has," Lee answers. Because she didn't die; because it didn't matter that the story didn't quite fit anymore. They all wanted her to live.

*~*~*~

"Are you hurt, Madam President?" They must have checked already but Lee drops to his knees, patting down her arms and shoulders before he realises any blood would be bright and screaming on the white suit. She's not hit. Thank the gods.

But she's in pain and her eyes are dark, her voice uneven. "I hurt my hand when the guards pushed me down," she says, sounding as if she's giving a report.

"How bad is it?"

"I don't know. It hurts." There's silence, realisation sinking in; she's not wounded, she injured her hand, and then Lee can watch her regaining her focus, breath by calm breath.

He says, "Right. Okay, the medics should be here any minute, you'll be fine." He's babbling, but it's excusable under the circumstances, and she watches him wordlessly. He thinks she'd take his hand if hers weren't hurt.

Then Sergeant Emris is there, saying there was one shooter, arrested, contained.

"I saw him," she says, very firmly. "Two rows behind you, I saw his face." And then there's a pause, and Lee freezes because he sees it, too, a tomb and a prayer and the sound of applause, a shout that was meant for her, a bullet that wasn't.

"At that distance he missed?" Emris asks, sounding so relieved, so glad, and her eyes widen because she knows. She knows.

*~*~*~

"That's a new suit," he observes after a moment. The jacket is on a hanger to his right, matching the soft white of her skirt. He's noticed it on a few news broadcasts, but never when he's seen her in person.

"Yes; we're calling it my campaign suit."

"How did you find it?"

She gestures vaguely. "Billy knows someone who knows someone who clubbed someone over the head and stole their suitcase. I didn't ask too many questions."

"Probably for the best," he agrees, smiling. "I like it."

And she looks away and is pleased at the same time. "Well, thank you," she says, smiling back. Ten minutes to go. She'll blow them away.

Her face turns serious. "Zarek got what he wanted: an election. Fair and square." The question is there: didn't he?

His judgment she wants. There'll be complaints and insinuations at the end, when Zarek has lost, but that's the way it goes, that won't matter. "Yes, he did," Lee says.

"And you?"

He remembers a promise he made with a gun in his hand. And oath she took. An oath he kept. Steel bars and the trembling of her voice. _I, Laura Roslin..._ "I got what I wanted, too."

*~*~*~

It takes forever for Cottle to come. Lee stays with her as the information filters through; one shooter, one confession. No further attack, no all-out Cylon plan. Billy arrives, upset but not panicking, and he talks to her, and Lee is standing beside her in the dingy locker room, silent and useless.

Then Cottle is finally there with a medic, gruff as usual. Lee sees her wince, but she makes no sound as her hand is examined. Nobody speaks; somehow it's for her to ask and she stares at Cottle bandaging up her hand a little too long. Her voice is very quiet. "How is he?"

Cottle's face is dark, impatient, and he's wearing a fresh coat but the shirt underneath shows traces of blood. "Dead," he says. "Ruptured aorta."

She says nothing, unmoving. "My gods," Billy whispers and Lee thinks of gods and a promise, an idea, a principle. Saving something out of utter destruction.

Her head turns but he is staring at the gauze wrapping round her fingers, over and over, until Cottle is done.

"Too late when I got there," Cottle says. "He never had a chance."

*~*~*~

"You know where you're going to sit?" she asks.

Lee thinks for a moment. He's come here on his own, and he's not meeting anyone. "I don't know; I'm hoping there'll be seats left on the tiers."

She hesitates a moment. "There's a seat in the front row with your name on it," she says eventually, and shrugs when he raises his eyebrows. "All right, I was hoping you'd come."

It pleases him, even as he wonders how she could think he would miss this.

*~*~*~

She's pacing. "Is there a chance this was a matter of revenge? Some fight aboard that prison ship of his?" she asks, and the room is still loud and crammed with her guards and the master-at-arms' people who have come to investigate.

Lee doesn't answer.

"You don't think this was a setup to discredit-- the election." Spoken to him, to him alone.

"I don't think even Zarek would go as far as dying just to spite you, Madam President." He doesn't know what makes him say it; she's desperate and he helps her when she's desperate. It's what he does.

"No," she says, tonelessly. "I suppose he wouldn't." And all the bustle in the room is nothing to the three steps of distance between them, and Lee's silence.

"We need to find out what Craig is going to do." He doesn't understand at first, until he remembers that that's Zarek's running mate. He hasn't thought that far, but she has. Of course she has. She looks at him for a moment, waiting. Lee has no answer.

Her head whips around. "Billy!" She holds her bandaged hand to her chest but there's no sign of pain now, there's just ice. "Find out what Craig is going to do. We need to make a statement, and we need to know how he's going to play this."

Billy takes off, knowing what to do, pushing through the crowd because the president gave him a job and that's what he does.

"And I want to see him." The shooter.

"Right now?" Emris asks, anxious, and looks at Lee, but Lee doesn't move.

"Yes, right now," she nods, making it an order, but as Emris chooses the escort she meets Lee's eyes again, and her face is soft behind the cool guard. "Captain?" she asks, meaning, Come with me.

*~*~*~

Billy pokes his head in eventually, acknowledging Lee's presence without surprise. "Three minutes, Madam President."

"I'm ready."

"Everything all right?"

"I'm fine," she says. Billy is bouncing on his feet, and Lee wonders if he's taken on the job of being nervous for all of them together.

"Good," Billy says. "Excellent. Call me if you-- you know."

"I will," she says, and takes a deep breath as the door closes again. "Three minutes," she repeats. "Okay."

"You'll do fine."

She rises slowly, gracefully, and Lee looks up at her as she straightens her blouse, composes herself.

She pauses. "You were right about this," she says quietly, and then she shrugs lightly. "Well, you know that."

He does.

"Just in case you had any doubt about my knowing," she adds in a humorous tone, but she's quite serious underneath. Even when she needed him to oppose her, he was there. And now she's going to go out there and win, fair and square. As he's known she would.

*~*~*~

He's seen them kneel before. Seen her back stiffen, her ill-at-ease steps down those stairs, into that role. That time, too, he was at her side. The only way, she'd told herself, and them, and Lee could not argue with that.

One glance at her, one wide-eyed look full of rapture, full of _happiness_ , and the man drops to his knees.

"Prophet of the gods," he says, his voice shaking, one hand on his forehead, almost touching the bars. He's trembling, a small, grey-haired figure in a cell, the man who shot Tom Zarek to please the prophet of the gods. "You came to see me."

It stops her cold, and Lee is at her side, close enough to know she doesn't gasp in shock, but her hands are unsteady, her breathing hard.

They knew this. Lee stares at the man in the cell, crazy and reverent, and he can't move on, doesn't even hold her back as she edges closer to the bars, transfixed.

"Why did you do this?" she asks, disbelieving, and Lee feels a stirring of anger that she doesn't know, that she makes herself hear it: for her, of course it was for her.

"I did it for you," the man says, sounding puzzled. Of course it was for her. Being here doesn't frighten him. He kneels at her feet, his prophet, his idol, waiting for her blessing, and Lee wants to leave this place so much, it's like a physical pull.

"Who told you to do this?"

"He spoke ill of you. He defied you." The formal phrasing rolls off his tongue clumsily.

She makes a sound, tiny and helpless. It's that which grounds him, reminds him what he's here for, his purpose. "Madam President," he says calmly, without emotion. "We should go."

Her shoulders heave once, twice. Then she turns. He looks behind her at the man in the cell, and follows when she's walked past him.

She doesn't get far; a few steps and there's that sound again, and she leans back her head, bracing herself against the wall with one arm. Lee stops at a distance, waiting.

"I never wanted this," she says, her eyes on the floor, and Lee is glad for that because he doesn't know what he'd say in return, what his face would show. It doesn't matter what she wanted, doesn't matter what he wanted. They got this, they _made_ this, and he doesn't know why he needs her to be cold and detached but he does.

And she will be, in a moment. She'll take this on, too. Be what he needs her to be.

She's leaning against the wall, motionless, heavy with everything that's broken. Just a moment, because they're alone.

Every step, he thinks. At every step. It's what he does. It's how they got here.

Slowly, he draws level with her, stands by for what little time she needs. She looks up at him, and she doesn't take his arm but a minute from now, a day from now she'll take his acceptance. It's what he does. What he can do now, when everything else is broken.

*~*~*~

The noise outside swells eventually, becomes hectic, electrifying. "It's time," Lee says, smiling, standing up, and she nods, in a way that reveals just this little bit of tension that even certainty of outcome can't erase.

He takes the jacket down from the hook, holding it for her. She slips inside almost absent-mindedly, her hair brushing over his hands. For a moment, he rests them on her shoulders, standing still.

She takes a deep breath, and turns. "Thank you," she says, and tugs at the cuffs of her blouse, straightening it under the jacket. Only when she's done does she add, "For everything."

"Good luck," he says. "But you don't need it."

"Not luck." She shakes her head, and it gives him a thrill because he knows before she says it. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Her eyes are shining, and he can picture her clearly, dazzling them all. He opens the door, and she smiles at him one last time before she walks off to win. She couldn't have done it without him.

He waits a beat, and then he follows.


End file.
